Home » A Wasted Life » Twelve Days Of Christmas

Twelve Days Of Christmas

On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me:
A six-pack of beer.
“Thanks, babe but I don’t drink.”
“I thought maybe you’d grow up and learn how.  Okay, I’ll drink the beer.”

On the second day of Christmas, my true love gave to me:
A book about journalism and a six-pack of beer.
“I don’t read books and I have no aspirations to be a journalist but thank you.”
“Not a problem.  I thought if you actually read a book, you might get smarter.  Obviously you’re not interested, so I’ll throw the fucking book out and I’ll drink the beer.”

On the third day of Christmas, my true love gave to me:
 An art set of oil paints, canvases, complete with sable brushes, a book about journalism and a six-pack of beer.
“Thank you, my sweet but you know I don’t paint anymore and you know why.”
“Just because I got mad one time and threw your paints across the room, you have to be a martyr.  Okay.  I’ll give it away, I’ll throw the fucking book out and I’ll drink the beer.”

On the fourth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me:
A box of golf balls, an art set, a book about journalism and a six-pack of beer.
“Oh, sweetie, don’t you remember what happened the last time I played golf with you?
“Goddammit, aren’t you ever going to get over me jerking your arm out of its socket while screaming at you to get out of the fucking way?  Fine, I’ll use the balls, I’ll give the art set away, I’ll throw the fucking book out and I’ll drink the beer.”

On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me:
A pack of guitar picks, a box of golf balls, an art set, a book about journalism and a six-pack of beer.
“Thanks for the thought, darling but I don’t play the guitar.”
“Well, fuck.  Is there anything you WILL do?  Okay.  I’ll take the guitar picks, I’ll use the golf balls, I’ll give the art set away, I’ll throw the fucking book out and I’ll drink the beer.”

On the sixth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me:
A noon appointment to watch a Duke basketball game in a bar, a pack of guitar picks, a box of golf balls, an art set, a book about journalism and a six-pack of beer.
“Oh, honey.  I’m really not interested in going to a bar to watch basketball and you know how drunk you get.  I was kind of hoping that we might spend the day just being with each other.”
“How can you be so fucking selfish?  You know how important Duke basketball is to me!  It’s all about you, isn’t it?  You don’t do anything and you don’t want me to do anything either, right?  Don’t worry about it.  I’ll watch the game by myself, I take the guitar picks, I’ll use the golf balls, I’ll give the art set away, I’ll throw the fucking book out and I’ll drink the beer.”

On the seventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me:
A notice that his friends were coming over for a drink, a noon appointment to watch a Duke basketball game in a bar, a pack of guitar picks, a box of golf balls, an art set, a book about journalism and a six-pack of beer.
“Darling, I really don’t want your friends coming over. They get so rowdy and they break my things.
“Still all about you, isn’t it?  I let your idiot sister come down here and act like a fucking moron and never say a word.  Tell you what.  If you don’t like it, you can leave.  I’ll entertain my friends, I’ll watch the game by myself, I’ll take the guitar picks, I’ll use the golf balls, I’ll give the art set away, I’ll throw the fucking book out and I’ll drink the beer.”

On the eighth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me:
Three recycled magazines about Tree Houses that had come to his office earlier that year, a notice that his friends were coming over for a drink, a noon appointment to watch a Duke basketball game in a bar, a pack of guitar picks, a box of golf balls, an art set, a book about journalism and a six-pack of beer.
“I appreciate the re-gift sweetheart but I don’t plan on building any tree houses anytime soon.
“Can you be any more useless?  Don’t you want to at least pretend to know something about something?  If you don’t want the magazines, I’ll toss them.  I’ll entertain my friends, I’ll watch the game by myself, I’ll take the guitar picks, I’ll use the golf balls, I’ll give the art set away, I’ll throw the fucking book out and I’ll drink the beer.” 

On the ninth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me:
A collection of Christmas cards to display, sent from his family members and addressed only to him, three re-cycled magazines about tree houses, a notice that his friends were coming over for a drink, a noon appointment to watch a Duke basketball game in a bar, a pack of guitar picks, a box of golf balls, an art set, a book about journalism and a six-pack of beer.
“I am not going to display cards in my house from people who blatantly exclude me.  Do you not understand that?”
“You’re a real piece of work, you know it?  Go ahead.  Ruin Christmas for me.  I’ll take the cards to work, I’ll toss the magazines, I’ll entertain my friends, I’ll watch the game by myself, I’ll take the guitar picks, I’ll use the golf balls, I’ll give the art set away, I’ll throw the fucking book out and I’ll drink the beer.”

On the tenth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me:
An invitation to not spend the day at his brothers’ house, a collection of Christmas cards to display, three re-cycled magazines about tree houses, a notice that his friends were coming over for a drink, a noon appointment to watch a Duke basketball game in a bar, a pack of guitar picks, a box of golf balls, an art set, a book about journalism and a six-pack of beer.
“You’re going to spend the day with your brother instead of me?  The brother who treats me and your children like we’re worthless garbage?”
“Listen, my mama and daddy drove down and I want to see them and I’m not going to take any shit from you about it. Besides, you know you don’t want to go, so I’ll spend the day with my brother and my mama and daddy, I’ll take the cards to work, I’ll toss the magazines, I’ll entertain my friends, I’ll watch the game by myself, I’ll take the guitar picks, I’ll use the golf balls, I’ll give the art set away, I’ll throw the fucking book out and I’ll drink the beer.”

On the eleventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me:
Another invitation to spend Christmas alone, an invitation to not spend the day at his brothers’ house, a collection of Christmas cards to display, three re-cycled magazines about tree houses, a notice that his friends were coming over for a drink, a noon appointment to watch a Duke basketball game in a bar, a pack of guitar picks, a box of golf balls, an art set, a book about journalism and a six-pack of beer.
“You’re leaving me alone again on Christmas?  But I have a pot roast cooking.  Can’t you stay here with me?”
“The family rented a house at Edisto Beach.  Mamas’ cooking and everybody’s going to be there.  I didn’t ask you if you wanted to go because you never want to do anything.  Go upstairs and make a quilt or something.  I’ll go see them, I’ll spend the day with my brother and my mama and daddy, I’ll take the cards to work, I’ll toss the magazines, I’ll entertain my friends, I’ll watch the game by myself, I’ll take the guitar picks, I’ll use the golf balls, I’ll give the art set away, I’ll throw the fucking book out and I’ll drink the beer.”

On the twelfth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me:
An announcement that he picked up the WTC in a bar, another invitation to spend Christmas alone, an invitation to not spend the day at his brothers’ house, a collection of Christmas cards to display, three re-cycled magazines about tree houses, a notice that his friends were coming over for a drink, a noon appointment to watch a Duke basketball game in a bar, a pack of guitar picks, a box of golf balls, an art set, a book about journalism and a six-pack of beer.
“Um…what?”
“I’d like to bring her down and I thought we would stay with you.”
“You can’t stay here.”
“Oh, well I guess I won’t bring her then.”
“I think it’s time to talk about divorce.”
“NO.  I am not going to talk about divorce!  I cannot imagine not being married to you.”
“Wait a minute.  Did you really think that you were going to bring her down here, stay in my house, sleep with her in my bed while I slept on the sofa and I was going to be okay with that?”
“Yeah….no.  I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“Sorry, darling. I am not going to be your whore wife but Merry Christmas anyway!

There were many good Christmases during our forty-one years together.

This is indicative of a few of the difficult ones, represented not by days but by years.

47 thoughts on “Twelve Days Of Christmas

  1. I’m so sorry you went through this. Thank you for making me feel less alone. “Let’s buy the boys an xbox” “they don’t want an xbox” “they do want an xbox, they just don’t realize how much they want an xbox”. “you do want a keurig, you just don’t realize how great they are” “let’s get him golf clubs, he’s been golfing once, he needs all the gear” …

    I hate this fucking holiday.

    God, I’m glad I’m not alone.

    I’ve never drank or smoked or anything like that. I thought about getting high last night. I don’t think I can, but I thought about it. I hate Christmas.

    Like

  2. 2nd try to comment…
    At least you are now rid of him and his inlaws, finally not having to face their abusive ways and mistreatment. I wish your kids would take reason and stand by your side though.

    Like

  3. A six-pack of beer.
    β€œThanks, babe but I don’t drink.”
    β€œI thought maybe you’d grow up and learn how…”

    My ex also used to equate utterly unrelated things with ‘adulthood’ and it drove me NUTS. When we first met, I lived by myself in a very nice two-bedroom apartment, like the 30-something adult I am. He, meanwhile, lived in an always-filthy shared house with a bunch of 20-something roommates; there were hand-made signs posted everywhere reminding people to close/lock doors, flush toilets, turn the lights off when leaving, pick up after themselves…etc. He repeatedly told me it was high-time I “grew up” and lived in a house.

    Liked by 1 person

    • I used to make my own clothes (and my childrens’ too) and I always wanted a dress form so I could fit them better. I was small and the patterns weren’t.
      For Christmas one year, Loser gave me a dress form. I was blown away and asked him where he was able to find it. He said “I had to special order it. Stores usually like for little girls to grow up before they start making their own clothes.”
      So much for that. LOL

      Liked by 1 person

  4. It is hard to click Like on this, it must have been very difficult for you, but you did a great job here -except, forgive me but I didn’t get the punchline, I don’t understand the initials.

    Like

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